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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24148120">Crunch</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LananiA3O/pseuds/LananiA3O'>LananiA3O</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Darksiders (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Graphic Description, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Other, PTSD, brief non-sexual nudity, but hints of OC/horsemen shipping, just not calling her reader because I'm not writing in second person, or reader/horsemen shipping, still kind of gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 19:01:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,524</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24148120</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LananiA3O/pseuds/LananiA3O</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Council has been vanquished and the corrupt leaders of Heaven and Hell defeated. However, as the Horsemen and their human travel companion join a celebratory feast in the Forgelands, they soon learn that not all is well that ends well, and that some wounds go deeper and last longer than others.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Death (Darksiders)/Original Character(s), Fury (Darksiders)/Original Character(s), Strife (Darksiders)/Original Character(s), War (Darksiders)/Original Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Crunch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>ell, here’s that ‘What if the horsemen’s S/O was actually deeply traumatized’ fic you guys have been asking for. She’s still a badass, but, yeah... all the <b>trigger warnings here for PTSD and somewhat graphic description of past character death</b>. Also, brief, non-sexual nudity.<br/>Categorized as relationship "Other" because it occupies this weird limbo between gen and shipping.</p><p>Disclaimer: This work was written for publication on Archive of Our Own and <a href="https://lananiscorner.tumblr.com/">my personal Tumblr</a> and is not for profit. Any re-publication on for-profit/monetized sites/apps is not authorized or supported by me. If you come across such a re-publication, please leave a comment in <a href="https://lananiscorner.tumblr.com/ask">my tumblr ask box</a>. Podfics and translations may be authorized upon request.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>„It all happened so fast,” is what the other humans would say later, days later when they heard the news. From Strife’s perspective, it was anything but. For all the hundreds of ways that his mind jumped all over the place, mocking the very notion of “focus” like a fish slipping from an amateur’s hook, it was exceptionally good at seeing all the little details that made up “it”, stretched out over the many fractions of seconds that were “so fast”.</p><p>It began with the loud, cracking, squelching sound of one of the makers—Ulthane’s older brother—chowing down on roasted stalker ribs. Strife caught it out of the corner of his eyes, how she froze almost instantly, just for a moment. He watched her swallow hard, put down her own food, and mutter a quick “excuse me for a moment”, before getting up calm as a spring breeze, even taking the time to put the chair back neatly against the table, and striding away in brisk steps.</p><p>To the unknowing observer, nothing would have seemed out of order, but Strife knew better. He—and his siblings—had been travelling and fighting with her for weeks, rooting out one demon lord after the next, one angelic traitor after the other, gathering what few humans had survived their resurrection to join Fury’s horde, and even finding a way to trap and slay the Council. He had seen her walk, heard her talk, and watched her face down things and creatures one would expect to drive a human insane, and never, not once, had she been this... stiff... this cold. Something was seriously wrong.</p><p>In contrast to her, Strife did not bother to excuse himself. Hell, he could explain his sudden absence to Death later. Fury and War may not even notice.</p><p>Unfortunately, one of the things she had learned in the apocalypse was how to NOT leave a trail. Particularly on stone. Strife cursed Tri-Stone under his breath, even if it was currently refuge to him, his siblings, and all that was left of humanity. Speaking of which, that might have been a good place to start. He pushed the anger back into the corner of his mind where it belonged and sprinted down the stairs into the mountain, to the chambers the makers had set aside for their human guests.</p><p>Humanity, Strife was reminded once more as he reached the rooms, were a curious lot. So many of the survivors he had met Haven had listed “my own apartment” as one of the things they missed from before the apocalypse, yet when the makers pointed out almost apologetically that they only had so many rooms and most of their guests would have to share, not a single one had complained. If anything at all, they seemed happy to still be together.</p><p>“Yo, Strife!” Nigel waived at him from one of the doorways. He had been one of the earliest refugees in Haven. Now he was in Fury’s vanguard. “Thought you’d be upstairs, enjoying the feast. What’s up?”</p><p>“Looking for someone.”</p><p>“Ah, the Tracker.”</p><p>“Yeah, her.” Why she had refused to give anyone but the horsemen her name was anybody’s guess. Strife <em>had</em> found it curious, but there had been more pressing matters to attend. Like demon lord Astaroth, trying to exterminate the last few survivors of humanity’s resurrection. To them, she was “the Tracker”. The skittish girl that never set foot in the hideouts, yet somehow always knew what was out of stock and, most importantly, where to get it. The one who would leave brief, disturbing, but crucial messages whenever demons got to close and the survivors needed to move or else. “She just... got up and left.”</p><p>“Yeah, that does sound very <em>her</em>.” Nigel grinned. “I mean, you know her better than I do, but from what everyone tells me, she never stays in place for long. Surprised she even showed up for the feast.”</p><p>“Well, I need to find her. You know which one of those rooms is hers, by any chance?”</p><p>Strife had fully expected to hear “she never checked in” or “how should I know” or even a sly “oh I thought she was staying with you four”. What he had absolutely not expected, was for the answer to come from behind him, in a voice soft as a pillow and ancient as the Well itself.</p><p>“You ask the wrong question, horseman.” The blind seer leaned on her staff with a weary sigh. “What matters not is where she was, but where she went.”</p><p>Strife sighed, too. He missed the old days when riddles were actually exciting. By now, he could usually see where they were going. “She’s no longer in the Forgelands, is she?”</p><p>“The Forgelands, yes. Tri-Stone, no. Though I am afraid that is all the help I can provide... for now.”</p><p>“That’s alright.” After all, it was only the Forgelands! A sprawling realm of water and fire and dense forests and craggy mountains. How hard could it be to find a single human here? Right? Right...?</p><p>
  <em>Fuck me.</em>
</p><p>“And horseman...” Muria crossed the distance between them in three calm strides and handed a small vial to him. The silver glass somehow felt both cold and warm in his hand. “You will need this. You will know when”.</p><p>“Thank you, seer.”</p><p>Strife rushed past her with a quick nod, raced up the stairs... and dodged left just in time to avoid crashing into the unnatural paradox of crushing muscle and emaciated flesh that was his oldest brother.</p><p>“Could not have picked a more inconvenient spot to stand in, could you?” Strife asked with a sneer that hopefully reflected in his voice.</p><p>“Could you have picked a more inconvenient time to escape for a quick temptation?” Death lobbed back and Strife felt his brain screech to halt.</p><p>“Tempta—” He wanted to punch him in the face. Mask and all<em>. Why is he even still wearing that thing? Hadn’t he given it up when—</em> “You think I skipped out of a grade-A feast for a booty call? With <em>her</em>?”</p><p>“You’ve left more important functions for less. And with worse company.”</p><p>Strife wanted to feel insulted. He really did. He guessed part of him even might. The urge to follow that tangent to its inevitably violent conclusion that would leave both of them feeling worse was strong. Thankfully, his concern, for once, was stronger.</p><p>“Something’s wrong with her, Death. I know she’s always had this thing about coming and going as she pleases without a warning and that’s fine and all, but did you <em>see</em> her when she left? She was terrified of something.”</p><p>“Terrified?” The amusement in Fury’s voice as she walked up to both of them was almost palpable. In the warm light of the nearby feast, her hair looked truly red as blood and Strife had the feeling blood was exactly what she was looking for. “She looked perfectly calm to me. And besides, did you not learn anything from the weeks we travelled with her? <em>Nothing</em> scares that girl. Although what I’m going to do to your face if you don’t get back to the feast right now might just be enough to make her recoil.”</p><p>“I saw what I saw,” Strife insisted. “And if you wanna have a fight, let’s go! Right now!” He could feel it, the tingling of the rage that came so easily to all of them, clawing at his core like a sudden hunger. Just like his fingers curled around his daggers, Fury’s hand automatically went to her whip.</p><p>“Enough, both of you!” Death stepped between them, just as he had stepped between Strife and War all those millennia ago. “We will return to the feast. All three of us.” And then almost as an afterthought, although Strife had known his brother long enough to be able to say that it wasn’t: “Dust will go looking for her.” The crow screeched in protest from where he was perched on the nearest arch. “Yes, I know the Forgelands are vast. Go look for her anyway.”</p><p>Dust gave one more indignant squawk, then set out on his journey. Fury sheathed her whip and turned back towards the feast. Death, of course, did not move.</p><p>“Fine.” Strife glared at him from underneath the visor and followed Fury.</p><p>He had a bad feeling about all of this.</p><p>*</p><p>By the time Dust returned, the feast was almost over. Unfortunately, only almost. Had it been up to Strife, he would have been out of his chair the moment the crow landed. The party was getting kind of dull anyway and even despite the fact that all four of them had been on a mission long enough to actually feel hungry for a change, and even though the food did look delicious, he had barely taken a bite since she had left. What he had done—and pretty damn quickly, too, Strife would acknowledge—was to convince War that something was seriously wrong with their human friend, but unfortunately, the prosthesis attached to his right shoulder was a harsh reminder that even that wouldn’t get them far. Not so long as Death was still—</p><p>“She is <em>where</em>?!” Dust cawed his response and fluttered off before anyone could send him on another multi-hour man hunt. The moment he was gone, Death rose from his seat and turned to leave without a word. He stopped the moment his siblings rose as well. “You can all stay here. I’ll bring her back safe and sound.”</p><p>“Oh good grief, you are still on this bullshit...” Strife shook his head. They had survived the apocalypse. They had stood against Heaven and Hell together, and yet Death <em>still</em> insisted on freezing them out at every opportunity. It seemed some things even a dip into the Well could not fix. “We’re coming with you, like it or not.”</p><p>Of course, all four of them suddenly making to disappear from the feast had rustled some feathers, literally and figuratively. The humans—those who had not yet retreated into the mountain to get some well deserved rest—were well and truly drunk enough not to care by now—which was also deserved—but both Uriel and Thane looked at them with sincere puzzlement and a weariness befitting immortal, or near-immortal—creatures.</p><p>“Our human friend appears to have gotten herself into some trouble,” Strife explained quickly. He had learned long ago that sometimes a few sentences in cooperation here or there could save him days of frustration. Diplomacy was not something that came natural to nephilim, but it did have its uses. “We’re just gonna go and get her back.”</p><p>“All four of you?” Uriel raised an eyebrow, eliminating the need for the second half of that question. <em>Exactly how much trouble are we talking about?</em></p><p>“We’ll be back in no time. Enjoy the rest of the feast.”</p><p>And with that, Strife turned and left as well, hoping for his own sake that he had not just lied to his host, a one-hundred-percent-done-with-the-world angel, and himself.</p><p>He caught up with the others just outside the city. Whatever War and Fury had done to keep Death from running off without his younger siblings had clearly soured the mood. Strife could all but taste the tension in the air as they summoned their horses without another word and disappeared into the darkness of Stonefather’s Vale. If it hadn’t been for Death and Despair having to show them the way, Rampage would have been leading. Instead, he resigned himself to running just behind his ashen brother. Neither horse nor rider seemed happy about it.</p><p>“Where are we going, Death?”</p><p>“The Drenchfort.”</p><p>“And what is so dangerous about the Drenchfort?”</p><p>Strife almost wanted to laugh. Leave it to War to ask the strategic questions. He was probably already calculating fifty ways of slaying whatever monster was threatening their human friend in that big, hard skull of his.</p><p>“Stingers.”</p><p>“Stingers?” Now Strife was truly confused. “What’s so bad about stingers? They are pathetically weak.”</p><p>“And highly poisonous,” War objected and the implication was not lost on Strife. If their venom was strong enough to hurt a nephilim, he did not want to imagine what it would do to a human. “They also attack in large, near-silent swarms.” And the dagger and gun—singular for both—that she carried were not going to help much with that. Yes, she was smart and skilled enough to take out individual enemies on her own, but a swarm of fluttery, hard to hit poison dispensers?</p><p>“Yeah, on second thought, let’s hurry.”</p><p>Above their heads, Dust screeched directions as he followed their trail through what was becoming increasingly tricky terrain. The vines were everywhere, thorns and all, and though the makers had started healing their realm from the Corruption that had befallen it decades ago, some of its malice still lingered in the thick, sticky, black webs that almost seemed to lie in wait, like a hungry spider hiding out in the darkest corner of the room.</p><p>The good news was that she had not become tangled prey.</p><p>The bad news was that whatever <em>had</em> happened to her had seriously hampered her judgment.</p><p>They found her cowering behind a spring, rushing forth from some desolate ruin whose glory days had long since come and passed, soaked from head to toe, knees drawn up, with her battle-worn backpack wrenched tightly between her thighs and her bare chest. Was that why she was shivering like leaves in a storm? He supposed it was getting kind of chilly this late at night by human standards, and he truly hoped it was just the cold. Could stinger venom give a human seizures? He didn’t know and he was in no mood to find out.</p><p>Death dismounted in front of the thorny thicket that shielded the spring from the road and unsheathed his scythe to cut a path.</p><p>In the half-second it took her to pinpoint the location of the sharp sound of metal cutting through wood, Strife saw an emotion in her eyes he had never, in all those many days they had travelled together, observed before: sheer, visceral panic. It clawed its way out of her throat in a second, culminating in a high-pitched shriek that echoed through the ford and clearly broadcasted her location to every stinger, prowler and stalker within half a mile. The growls answered soon enough and sent her scrambling out from underneath the fountain, further backwards into the monstrous hedge that grew around the ruins. Some of the thorns were bigger than her hand, drawing blood wherever they touched her, and on some instinctual level she seemed to come to the same realization that gripped Strife—she was making it worse. She was drawing more attention to herself. She was making more noise, providing more scents, and any predator nearby was soon going to try and grab a bite out of her.</p><p>“Brother, stop!” War’s tone was as heavy as the metal arm that gripped Death’s scythe, but also utterly non-threatening. For once, War was not looking for a fight. “Save it for the stalkers.”</p><p>It was a timely suggestion. Strife drew Mercy and Redemption the moment he heard claws scraping over earth and stone and although nightfall was coming on fast, his visor compensated just fine. With a little luck, he’d be able to get all the smaller ones before they even came close. As much as he enjoyed a challenging fight, keeping her safe was the priority right now and that meant the fewer opponents got close, the better.</p><p>Like any storm, the upcoming onslaught was preceeded by utter, discomforting silence, just long enough for him to realize that Fury had not even drawn her whip, but not long enough to ask why. The moment he opened his mouth to speak, the monsters leapt from the shadows.</p><p>It was an utter slaughter of course. Chaoseater ran through stalkers and prowlers alike as a knife would through butter. Death’s scythes danced across the field, severing limbs left and right, while his swarm of ghostly crows murdered whatever stingers Strife did not have time to shoot. A few short minutes later, all was quiet again, and the ground was drenched red and covered in bits and pieces of dead creatures. It smelled of gunpowder, blood, metal and... salt?</p><p>Strife turned around and felt his muscles freeze, just for a moment, at the sight of tears, actual freaking tears, on her face. He had been starting to think she wasn’t even capable of crying, but now here she was and somehow he had never felt this lost.</p><p>“I’m going in.” Fury pushed her whip against his chest and he holstered his guns just in time to catch it before it fell into the mud. To his right, War and Death seemed equally confused.</p><p>“Who are you and what have you done with our sister?”</p><p>“Strife, I will strangle you with your own guts, if I have to, if only to have a moment of quiet.” Fury sighed, unclenched her teeth, and gave all of her brothers a quick, but undeniably firm glance. “You stay here. All of you.”</p><p>As usual, Fury did not wait for permission, feedback or suggestions, but for once, Strife did not mind. Watching her crouch down low and crawl through the ticket with only a hair’s width to spare between her and the bristly plants proved that any of her brothers attempting to do the same would only have ended in more blood and various degrees of cursing.</p><p>In the depths of the thicket, their friend still cowered, backpack still clutched against her torso, still shivering, still panicked. She tried to retreat further, but there was nowhere left to go, except to a very painful death by impalement from all sides.</p><p>To Strife’s horror, judging by the wild look in her eyes, she actually seemed to consider that an option.</p><p>“Fury—”</p><p>“I know!” In the two seconds that it took Fury to turn her head away from him again and stop her approach, her voice somehow went from an angry snarl to a soft whisper. Strife shook his head. Clearly he was hallucinating... or the last ninety years with humanity really <em>had</em> changed his sister.</p><p>“Easy, my dear. Easy. I’m not here to hurt you.”</p><p>Strife had expected her to scream again. Or maybe yell. Or maybe even try to hit Fury. He had seen plenty of panicked humans in his time on the shattered Earth and whatever it was that scared her to death right now was going to have to pay for that.</p><p>Instead, she did nothing. Absolutely nothing. Her face was still streaked with tears, her flesh still trembling, but her eyes stared right into void, past the thicket, past the horsemen in front of her. There was nothing there. Nothing.</p><p>Fury seemed to sense it to. “Can you hear me?”</p><p>No answer came. To Strife’s right, Death opened his eyes to escape from a trance Strife hadn’t realized he had entered and gave a sharp sigh. “Her spirit is... unfocused like none I’ve ever seen.”</p><p>“Oh so someone finally knocked me off that pedestal, huh?”</p><p>For once, Strife’s reflexes failed him as Death’s fist landed straight in his face. Even with the helmet on, that was going to leave a nasty bruise, but he supposed he deserved that one. Still? What else was he supposed to do? He didn’t want to do <em>nothing</em> and all his other options seemed harrowing at best.</p><p>“She’s having a panic attack.” Fury rolled her eyes at both of them, before turning to her youngest brother. “War, I need your cloak.”</p><p>“My cloak?”</p><p>He didn’t get it, but he did not protest either. Strife supposed surrendering the red hood must have felt even stranger to War than seeing him without it felt to Strife himself, but he did not protest. The fabric came off in one swift pull. War bundled it up as tightly as he could and threw it as close to Fury as the vines allowed. She fished it out of the barbed nightmare with quick hands and placed it carefully next to their friend.</p><p>“Tell me five things you can see.”</p><p>“Fi—fi—five?”</p><p>It was the first coherent word they had gotten out of her since they had found her and Strife was grateful to hear her voice again. He was decidedly less grateful to hear the heavy, labored breathing underneath.</p><p>“Five,” Fury confirmed.</p><p>“Red. Red fabric.”</p><p>“Oh I get it.” Strife had never understood the concept of ‘illuminating thoughts’ as well as he did in that moment. It truly was, as the humans would put it, like someone had switched on a light inside his brain. Red was the color that stood out the starkest in this part of the Forgelands and Fury had needed something to get her attention with g e n t l y.</p><p>“Golden seam. My backpack. Vine—”</p><p>Suddenly, her eyes were wide with fear again. Even worse, the awful screech that shot out of her mouth hardly sounded human. “The teeth! The teeth! No no no no no---“</p><p>“Thorns!” Whatever caution Fury had heeded before was hastily thrown into the wind. She gripped her shoulders quickly. “They are just thorns and they cannot hurt you while I’m here. Not so long as you sit still.”</p><p>As if to prove her point, Fury backed off just a little further. Her fists glowed red as her magic coursed through them, grabbing the thicket around them and pushing it outward, away from both of them. That seemed to help, at least a little, and Fury didn’t stop until no more of the damn barbs were within reach.</p><p>“Now, four things you can touch.”</p><p>“Touch?”</p><p>“Yes, touch!”</p><p><em>Oh no.</em> Strife felt his teeth clench at the irritated exasperation in her voice. He was surprised Fury had been so calm and gentle even this far, but of course it had always only been a matter of time until the rage inside her sprang forth again. Judging from the way his brothers tensed, he was not the only one expecting this conversation to go south any time.</p><p>“Cold earth.” <em>Well, at least someone was calming down, even if only a bit.</em> “Wet. My hair’s wet. The sratchy broken net on my backpack. My—” Suddenly, her face was flushed red as she looked down at her chest. “Fury where’s my shirt?”</p><p>Fury huffed in indignation and shoved War’s cloak into her hands. “If I knew that, I would not have needed to ask War to ditch his cloak. Three things you can hear.”</p><p>“Water.” She seemed to get it now. Slowly but surely, her voice grew steadier as her breath evened out and her hands fumbled to slip her head through the cloak without surrendering her backpack. The hood was easily three times too big for her and would have looked comical in any other situation. Now it just made her look even smaller than usual. Even more fragile. “Water falling, running. And... is that a bird somewhere?”</p><p>There was indeed a tweeting bird somewhere in this ford, Strife suddenly realized, and it wasn’t Dust. The Forgelands had songbirds. Who knew?</p><p>“Two things you can smell.”</p><p>“Blood.” She all but tried to bury herself in the cloak. “And ash. Smells like Ruin.”</p><p>“Good.” At last, Fury seemed to calm down a little bit once more. Small steps. “One thing you can taste.”</p><p>“Salt.”</p><p>“Good. Welcome back to the land of the living.” The frustration was as clear in Fury’s voice as her relief. Given how much his sister hated talking, Strife was surprised she had lasted this long. One of many surprises this night.</p><p>“When did <em>you</em> learn to be so patient?”</p><p>“While the three of you were dead,” Fury snapped back at him.</p><p>Whatever had possessed her to bring up that topic again, Strife was sure she’d regret it later.</p><p>“I died, too.” She said it with the same casual tone that War and Death had used when retelling their ‘adventures’ to Fury and as bemusing as Strife found it, it also made him strangely proud to know that this human, <em>their</em> human companion, was just as unfettered. “During the apocalypse. I died. Forty-one years after it started raining demons and angels.”</p><p>“Forty-one?” It only took Strife a second to do the math on that. Next to him, Death had apparently taken the return of normal conversation as a sign that now was the time to cut through those vines and get both women out of there. “That means you were born...”</p><p>“After you came to Earth, yes. After Fury left.”</p><p>Well, that explained why she was so very, very good at tracking anything and anyone and getting out of the firing line quicker than souls went down Vulgrim’s gullet. Strife didn’t have to guess that someone born into a life of savage turmoil and blood shed would have a better time adjusting to war as the status quo. He had been there. He had done that.</p><p>“And then he caught me.”</p><p>“He?” War spat out the word with such disgust that there was no doubt as to his intention towards whoever had put her life to a premature end. Some demon was going to die a very slow, very brutal, very excruciating death tonight.</p><p>“He caught all of us, except Jonathan. The Hunter.”</p><p>Death froze where he stood, sheathed his scythe, and suddenly, for the first time since Strife could remember, seemed to shrink in on himself as if someone had just drained him of every last ounce of his life force. “Say that again.”</p><p>“Jonathan, the Hunter. Jonathan was his name, what we called him. Hunter was what the demons called him.” She shrugged. “He’d keep away the demons. He had a prosthetic leg and a rifle and he was pretty damn unkillable. I pestered him until he taught me how to read tracks and set traps and fire a gun. He used to keep us safe.”</p><p>“Used... to...?” Strife did <em>not</em> like the sound of that, but it was the tears and sobs that followed that made him wish Death had made good on his threat all that years ago and used Strife’s tongue to resole his boots.</p><p>“He came... right into the camp... one afternoon. It wasn’t even night or raining or anything that creepy. He was just... there...”</p><p>“He who?” War asked again, but this time his repulsion was met in kind.</p><p>“I don’t fucking know, okay! I didn’t bother to ask his name before he grabbed my sister and ripped out her shoulder!” War took a deep breath, but whatever he had wanted to say in return—if Strife had to guess, it was likely words of apology and comfort—was swallowed by the deluge from her lips. “It all happened so fast! One minute everything was fine, then he was there and there were so many of them... so many and they just kept coming and the lucky ones... the lucky ones died right there but some of us he dragged back to his lair and he kept us there okay he kept us chained to the wall like cattle and every night he would get one of us and—”</p><p>Suddenly, there was a fire in her eyes like Strife had never seen before, a pure hatred he had never seen from any human faced with anything but a demon. And it was aimed at his brother. She pushed through the vines towards him, not noticing, or likely not even caring that the thorns were ripping the cloak and tearing out bushels of her hair and rending her flesh.</p><p>If Strife had to take a guess, she was just about ready to try and murder War.</p><p>“Do you even have ANY IDEA what that feels like?! Do you, huh?! To lie awake every night, listening to a demon eat your own family? To wonder when it’s your turn? Tonight? Tomorrow? Next week? Best for last?” The answer was obvious and she half-laughed, half-scoffed at the silence that greeted her. “Of course not! You guys are <em>horsemen</em>! You are <em>nephilim</em>! You are <em>part demon</em>! You’re never scared of anything! ‘Oh well, yeah, I died, but then the seals revived me and it was all good, hahaha’... well it’s not good for ME, okay?!”</p><p>The cloak came off just as quickly as it had come on and Strife bristled as she slipped her arms through the straps of her backpack. She was going to bolt and who knew what oversized man-eating monster she was going to run into while running <em>from</em> <em>them</em>.</p><p>“But it IS in the past now,” Fury insisted, and Strife wanted to hit her over the head for reaching the end of her fuse at what was literally the worst time ever conceived. “The apocalypse is over, you are alive, and if that demon is still breathing, he won’t be much longer. We will find him!”</p><p>“Oh and you think that will make it all better, huh?” This time, she did actually laugh. It was undoubtedly one of the saddest sounds Strife had ever heard. She bundled up the cloak and threw it back at Fury as if it had suddenly been lit on fire in her hands. “Is your killing him gonna make me forget that sound... of his jaws crunching down on my ribs and tearing out my liver while I’m still alive? Hm? Is it gonna make me forget the taste of my blood and his spit in my mouth and how that slobbering grin of his was the last thing I ever saw in this world? Is it gonna make me forget waking up in his demon-infested lair and watching everyone I loved die again within minutes? IS IT?!”</p><p>“Please—”</p><p>“Oh shut up, Strife!” The sheer menace in her voice nearly made him flinch. He had been talked to like this a million times, but never once by her, and it stung worse than any stinger ever could. “Just... I-I CAN’T! I just CAN’T anymore!”</p><p>This time, it really did happen fast. Strife watched her turn and jump for the vines, reaching into the tangled mess with a sure-footed swiftness that only someone who had spent their whole life crawling through jungle—concrete or otherwise—could have. A split second later, Death had taken Fury’s whip off his hands, and lashed it out with one quick movement. It curled around her ankle like a particularly clingy snake and brought her back down to the ground with the sharp yelp of a desperate, wounded animal. Her struggling only pulled the snare tighter.</p><p>
  <em>“You will need this. You will know when.”</em>
</p><p>He did know. Strife rushed forward, uncorking the seer’s vial as he went, and knelt down next to her quickly. The fingers of his left hand dug into her cheeks, forcing her jaw open; his right poured the potion down her throat. “I am so very sorry!”</p><p>He snapped her mouth shut again and pinched her nose, ignoring the way her hands clawed at his armored fist in vain. Second by second, they got more and more sluggish, until they sank to the ground at last. Limp, but not lifeless. Not that that was going to be much consolation for her when she woke up. She was going to hate him for this.</p><p>“I am so sorry. I am so very sorry.” He kept on muttering the words over and over as he sat down and drew her back against his chest. He glanced down to see if he had hurt her more than absolutely necessary and froze when he noticed the scar on her stomach, a ring of jagged dots the size of her own head, right where her rib cage ended and her guts began, scrubbed red and raw very recently, judging by the looks of it. A ring of <em>teeth</em>.</p><p>“I am so very sorry.”</p><p>*</p><p>Death had been right about one thing—she did end up in his bed after all, although it was hardly as romantic or as fun as it should have been. She looked downright tiny, swaddled in fur blankets in a bed that had been built for a maker and, what was far more worrying, pale as a ghost, even in spite of the warm and soft glow of the light hanging from the ceiling.</p><p>“I still don’t understand it,” Fury eventually blurted out from where she leaned against the wall next to the bed, watching the maker’s seer, Muria, and one of Haven’s survivors, Gloria, as they tended to their human friend. Word had spread fast, was in fact still spreading, but all it had taken to get any nosy bystanders off their back had been an ill-tempered, towering glare from War. “Why now? Why, after all this time, did all of this suddenly bother her? She died, she came back, she travelled and fought with us. I’ve seen plenty of terrified humans in my time, but she was never like that.”</p><p>“You’ve seen what we’ve let you see,” Gloria objected. “You saw the tip of the iceberg. I figured you had enough on your plate. And also, most of us were far too scared of you to be vulnerable around you. At least at first.”</p><p>“What do you—Oh...” He remembered now. Strife had initially been confused about Fury enlisting Gloria’s help in addition to Muria’s. Surely one healer was enough. But now those conversations from Haven came back to him. “This was your job before the apocalypse, right? Healer of the mind and soul? What did you call it?”</p><p>“Therapy.”</p><p>“Therapy. Yeah, that was it.” What a concept. Strife was not going to lie—he had been baffled by it. The idea to designate someone who was responsible solely for the mental and emotional well-being of others, rather than combining both with physical health or just not designating an actual professional to it at all, was unheard of in heaven and hell, and pretty outlandish elsewhere as well, if he was not mistaken. He would have to point that out to her if he still remembered it by the end of this conversation. She could make bank offering her services to a whole legion of traumatized and repressed angels. ‘Father’ knew they were not going to get any sympathy from their own military-minded civilization.</p><p>“Then you know what is wrong with her?” War still towered in front of the door, almost as if he expected whatever demon had hurt her to manifest outside the room by the sheer power of her nightmares. “Can you heal her?”</p><p>Gloria blinked, blinked again, laughed, and shook her head. “Heal her... oh my god, you guys really are clueless.”</p><p>“But you do know what is wrong with her,” Fury said flatly and Gloria nodded.</p><p>“We call it PTSD—post-traumatic stress disorder. Long story short, when humans live through traumatic events, our brains start dishing out adrenaline, making us hyper-sensitive, hyper-focused and faster and stronger for a while. It takes a toll on our physical and mental health, though, so usually the brain returns to its normal state shortly after the danger has passed. If that doesn’t happen... if the stress continues even weeks after the trauma is done, it becomes a disorder. And you can’t really ‘cure’ it. You can learn to live a happy and fulfilled life in spite of it, through careful treatment that minimizes or even eliminates the symptoms, but there is no potion or spell in the world that can undo this.”</p><p>It was not the answer any of them had wanted to hear. Fury looked... well... furious. War’s expressions settled from shock to gradual acceptance with painful familiarity that reminded Strife of how his brother had lost his arm. And Death... well, he seemed to have expected no less. Ever the pessimist.</p><p>“You said what Fury saw was the tip of the iceberg,” Death finally said. “You were not just talking about the humans of Haven, were you?”</p><p>“No, I was not.” Gloria sighed. “Panic attacks and emotional outbursts are just one of the many signs of PTSD. Others include hypersensitivity and hypervigilance, intense feelings of guilt, trouble sleeping, emotional numbness to what other people would reasonably consider disturbing scenes, meticulous avoiding of any situations similar to what caused the trauma, intense feelings of guilt and shame—which would certainly explain why you found her half-naked next to a spring with her stomach scrubbed red—stark lack of optimism about yourself and the world even in the face of good events, nightmares, flashbacks—often brought on by triggers, that is, stupid little ordinary things that no-one even notices but that suddenly remind you—”</p><p>“The crunch!” It wasn’t the first thing Gloria had said that made sense. As a matter of fact, Strife was glad his face was behind a visor, because he was about ninety-eight percent sure it had taken on an increasingly disturbed look with every single thing she had said. He had been just about to jokingly ask whether Gloria had secretly been stalking them, taking notes on how a human would handle the company of the four. It was all so eerily accurate... So it was not the first thing she had said that made sense, but it was the first he had been able to meet with anything but baffled helplessness and he was going to grasp for that straw, even if it was rude. “She said she remembered the sound... of teeth biting down on ribs and...”</p><p>He did NOT want to picture it. He really did not. Sadly, his brain was being entirely uncooperative. Again.</p><p>“I suppose that would make attending a feast where freshly roasted animals are on the menu a very bad idea,” Gloria admitted.</p><p>“Then why would she do it?” It was rare to see Death genuinely confused and yet here they were. “She always did scuttle away to eat and sleep alone when we were travelling. Why not now?”</p><p>A valid question. Strife racked his brain to think of any time they had seen her eat or sleep, but Death was right; she would always disappear into the rafters, every time, without fail. As if the very idea of staying with a group of people while she was distracted was abhorrent to her. Back then, he had thought it a mildly bewildering quirk, an oddity compared to the usual social mannerisms of humans. Now he could see why. She had been resting in the false safety of a group when she was caught and murdered. She was not going to do it again. So why now?</p><p>Gloria shrugged, “Maybe she figured crunch time was finally over.”</p><p>Strife raised an eye brow. “Crunch time?” Either this was another new human concept for him, or a truly awful pun.</p><p>“It’s work jargon used in some of our pre-apocalyptic jobs. The last couple of weeks before a product or service needs to be delivered and everyone works crazy hours of overtime, often to the point of physical and mental exhaustion, to make sure the project is completed successfully.”</p><p>“Well, it’s been the last fifty or so days of the apocalypse...” Fury admitted.</p><p>“And that’s way too long!” Gloria sounded downright horrified. “Humans aren’t made for that kind of stress. I know she probably seemed competent enough, running around with the four of you, but I will bet you every single piece of gilt I own that she was hanging in there by a thread, running herself ragged to keep up with you all and not be a burden.”</p><p>“Trying desperately to follow where we’re going, huh?” Strife didn’t know what was worse—that all four of them had simply assumed that she was just tougher than a usual human and so had taken her enduring competence for granted, or that he had no idea how <em>not</em> to do so. At least not without leaving her behind and selfish as the thought was, he did <em>not</em> want to do <em>that</em>.</p><p> “In any case,” Gloria nodded towards the maker seer. “How long until that potion wears off?”</p><p>“About another twelve hours, I would wager. Give or take.”</p><p>“Good!” Fury pushed herself away from the wall and reached for Scorn’s hilt. “That’s twelve hours we can use to find and murder the demon that did this to her.”</p><p>“I doubt that’s gonna help her,” Strife pointed out, ever ready to state the obvious.</p><p>Fury scoffed. “No, but it will certainly make <em>us</em> feel better.”</p><p>“Would.” Death sighed. “I know the human she spoke of. The Hunter. I met him while I searched for Rod of Arafel on Earth. He pointed me to the demon lord who had caught up with him and the other survivors. I killed him and his soldiers already, so you will have to find somebody else to take your frustrations out on.”</p><p>“Just out of curiosity,” Strife knew he was going to regret asking the moment he started, but he also knew Death would not let him go without finishing the question. Damned if you do. Damned if you don’t. “Who?”</p><p>“Belial.”</p><p>“Be—” Strife shook his head. The idea of some demon devouring their human companion had been repulsive enough already, but Belial... of all the repulsive fat slugs that Hell had ever spawned...</p><p>
  <em>And to think we...</em>
</p><p>He glanced over to the door where War was still standing silent and unwavering as a wall. The horrified look on his face was proof that they were both thinking the same thing: <em>if we had killed him back then, she would not have had to die like that</em>.</p><p>“So... what can we do?”</p><p>And that was the crux of it all, wasn’t it? The ‘million-dollar-question’, as the humans liked to call it. What could they do, now that all was said and done? Now that Belial had lived too long and yet not long enough. Now that they had already failed so spectacularly at helping her for fifty days and then some more. Now that they were faced with a problem that could not, would not, be punched or magically removed from existence.</p><p>“Well, that depends...” Gloria took a deep breath. “How much of your usual, absolutely not mentally healthy way of life are you willing to sacrifice to let her heal?”</p><p>The question was not just addressed to him, but it was clear that his siblings did not have an easy answer to it either. How many demons would you slay for this girl? Easy question. How many miles would you walk? Piece of cake. How many limbs would you sacrifice? Uncomfortable, but still, simple. But this...</p><p>“You don’t have to decide now.” Strife sighed in relief. Either mind-reading was part of the job description for providers of therapy, or Gloria had been in this exact same position often enough and nephilim really were frighteningly close to humans in their range of emotions. Either way, he was grateful for the lifeline she had thrown him. “Get some rest, talk to each other, and get back to her when you have a clearer picture of how you want to handle her from here on out. I will get some rest, too, but feel free to come see me in the morning if you’d like more of my professional opinion.”</p><p>“And who will look after her?” War nodded towards the bed. “If she wakes up and no-one is here, she will likely run again.”</p><p>“I will stay with her, horseman.” Muria took a slight bow. “Rest assured no harm will come to her under my watch.”</p><p>Death glared at her in what seemed to be a peculiar mix of amusement and distrust. Strife had no doubt that the brother he had known before the apocalypse would have had no qualms about stating his opinion in the most scathing, dripping sarcasm ever. Whether it was the Well that had tempered him a little or maybe <em>her</em> companionship ultimately did not matter. At least not for now. What did matter was that he did leave, and so did War, Fury, and Gloria.</p><p>From the chair next the bed Muria gave him a sad smile. “You fear she will hate you, for failing to realize how hurt she has been all along.”</p><p>“Or for restraining her and drugging her against her will,” Strife suggested. He knew <em>he</em> would hate <em>himself</em> for that, if he were in her place. “Or for not being here when she wakes up. Or for any number of things really.” He paused, partially for the dramatic effect, partially because the knowledge really had turned sour ever since he had learned to actually give a damn about the universe. “The four of us are rather hateable in general.”</p><p>Muria laughed softly. “Spoken truly like a man in need of a meal and a good night of sleep.”</p><p>Strife couldn’t argue with that, but his appetite had been butchered and left out to rot hours ago, and as for sleep, well...</p><p>“You know, the humans have a saying... No rest for the wicked.”</p>
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